


Cruel, Cruel World

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [81]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Tony Stark, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Heavy Angst, M/M, Precious Peter Parker, Spoilers, Stephen Strange does what he must, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is my version of endgame, Whatever it takes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 18:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: Stephen gazed into the Time Stone, intent on saving the universe. He didn't realize just how cruel the universe would make the decision.





	Cruel, Cruel World

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry?

   Stephen was eight years old when he heard the common phrase ‘it’s a cruel world’ for the first time, spoke sarcastically with no small amount of irritation by his mother when he threw a tantrum over having to share his toys with his siblings. For some reason it had stuck in his brain as one of those hazy childhood memories that liked to plague you from time to time. Now, Stephen wonders if it wasn’t some kind of cosmic warning, the universe playing its game and hinting at its inhumanity.

   Stephen was fifteen when he learned the significance of that expression for the first time, when he sat on cool tiles, soaked and dripping, gasping for breath and sobbing, as he stared down at the still form of his little sister, pale and unmoving next to the pool he had just dragged her seizing body out of.

   He heard the sound of cruelty in the screaming cries of denial as his mother shook him, the grip on his arms tight enough to bruise. Heard in the silence of his father’s heavy, distant gaze as his body shook with grief. Heard it in his brother’s young, confused, questioning voice.

   Life was not forgiving, was not kind and Stephen decided from a young age that he would not be either. It shot him to greatness, filled him with a ragged determination fuelled by guilt and hatred for what he went through.

   He had believed that losing his sister was the worst kind of thing the world could throw at him, her loss, the guilt, the blame. He was wrong.

   Losing his hands.

   The things that made him who he was, the one tool in his disposal that he could use to say fuck you to the universe with every unlikely patient that lived, the thing that helped him move on, earn back some respect. Stephen had been a plaything, it felt like cosmic forces danced and laughed as they tossed him in the mud for daring to defy them.

   He hated and he raged, and he fought, because he was not one to simply stay there and take it. He fought harder then he did to become a doctor, suffered blow after blow in defiance until suddenly, he was something again.

   The powers that be hated him and Stephen hated them back with, his life as a sorcerer playing out like a horrible push and pull as he was dragged into cruel experience after experience in the name of saving the world and Stephen steadfastly refusing to let it win.

   But this. Cruel wasn’t a strong enough word. Inhumane, depraved, ruthless,

   He had been naïve, so incredibly stupid to think the universe had shown him the worst, given him the worst, was done with him.

   Stephen hovered mid-air, eyes closed and green swirling energy moving in and around him and for the first time since stepping beyond apprentice, he couldn’t feel the cosmos around him, as though they were holding their breath in anticipation.

   He watched as scene after scene played out, his mind reeling with the possibilities as he tried to narrow them to something worth saving, something worth the losses that would inevitably follow.

   He found it, on the 14 000th try, after peering into one particular life over and over again, watching with bated breath as Tony Stark was left to rot, was killed, was put through all kinds of hell. He knew, on some subconscious level that he was the one that he needed

   It was a perfectly crafted scheme. There was no reality, no dimension in which he couldn’t fall for Tony Stark after him for so long. He stared blankly, watching as he replayed one future over and over, knowing tears had slipped down his cheeks, knowing it was the only to save humanity as a whole, the millions of creatures as a whole.

   If Stephen was alone, if there was nobody to fear witnessing him, he would have howled, he would have torn his hair in denial, he would have broken himself apart if only to avoid the pain beating through him like a drum, promising destruction.

   Instead, he stared into the eyes of Tony Stark as he explained there was only one way, trying to memorize them. Instead, when he began fading to dust, he looked away, unable to face what he had just done, unable to tell the man he was now horribly in love with, that he had just signed his death sentence.

   He had never hated himself more.

\---

   The Soul Stone was…strange.

   He felt airy? Almost as though he were astral-projecting but it was even more untethered then usual, a presence floating about without any substance, try as he might. It was almost peaceful, at first.

   It wasn’t long before it began changing, the hazy feeling becoming sharper, more intent as though there was a mission that needed doing. Some part of Stephen knew it was wrong, that to exist in the Soul Stone was to be alive in essence only, yet the fact he was thinking already betrayed that basic line.

   He hadn’t seen this in the Time Stone and Stephen found himself focusing on it, on his feelings, his awareness until suddenly…he could see. That wasn’t to say he felt like he had his eyes again or could physically shift them, but as though images were being projected directly into his head.

   This.

   This was when Stephen learned just how cruel the universe was.

   The foggy, dim, air seemed to dissipate until he was in familiar territory, a fuzzy indistinct impression of hospital hallways and distant bustling of a busy med unit, making him feel both at home and lost.

   An invisible force tugged him forward until he was moving, passing door after door, all closed and sealed as though it wasn’t meant for him. After several minutes he came to an open one, a bright light spewing from it, blinding him to anything inside. Stephen considered moving on, refusing to follow the mysterious force, only to realize he was stuck, no time, no place to go until he was rescued. Whatever was in there must be infinitely better then thinking about what was waiting for him when he was brought back.

   He moved through the doorway into another world.

   Stephen found himself distinct, nearly physical in that he could see his hands and feel air fill his lungs with each inhale, but it was obvious the other people in the room could not see him. It was a hospital room, a maternity one to be exact.

   In the bed, looking sweaty and exhausted was a woman with dirty blond hair, pale face, and familiar brown eyes. Stephen’s breath caught at the sight as she stared down with a lovestruck expression at the little bundle in her arms. Standing next to the bed was a man that confirmed his worst fears, tall with brown hair just beginning to sprinkle grey here and there and looking down at his wife and son with an obvious sense of pride was Howard Stark.

   Stephen’s jaw clenched as tears burned his eyes, hands curling into fists at his side as he stared at the family portrait before him, a nurse being the only other intruder to this intimate moment.

   “Why?” Stephen whispered, agonized. “Why are you doing this?”

   There was a small squeal from the bundle, a tiny little hand coming out to latch on to his father’s finger for the first time, while tears swelled in Maria’s eyes. It sounded like an execution, a death blow, followed by his fall as Stephen landed on his knees, helpless. He tilted his head up at the misty roof, a scream building in his throat until it could no longer be contained.

   “ _WHY? STOP THIS. PLEASE”_

   The scene continued on, Maria whispering to her baby boy now and Howard joking about what a genius their son would surely grow up to be. It was hateful, absolutely horrific as his mind replayed what he had done, the choice he was forced to make to save the world.

   “Stop,” he croaked again, torn apart and incapable of surviving this, watching the man he was tricked into loving, the man he gave a death sentence too, live his life from the start. Yet, Stephen swore he could hear it, the universe’s smirking, its smug whisper; _do you deserve anything less?_

   He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the dirty aluminum floor, the Soul Stone capable of twisting time into convoluted shapes. Eventually though, Stephen looked up, where the family remained as if none had passed, quietly cooing at the child in their arms.

   Stephen dragged himself to his feet, feeling weighed down and dead inside as shuffled forward until he was staring down at the child in her arms. He was tiny with a smattering of dark hair, identical to nearly every other baby you would see, but his eyes….his eyes told the whole story.

   Stephen felt tears gather as he stared into warm brown eyes, bright with intelligence, destined to save the world and to die for it. He closed his eyes and accepted.

\---

   He watched Tony grow up, day by day, a silent bystander to his mistakes and his triumphs. He watched with an aching heart as his brilliance was overlooked again and again, watched him worship his mother in quiet gestures, as he idolized his distant father, as he cried and laughed.

   It was a thousand times worse then the Time Stone. When looking for a solution he saw the present and the future, had gotten to see every aspect of the man and just how far he was willing to go for the world, for Peter, for his loved ones. Now, the Soul Stone was showing him the past, how he became the man he was and just how much more devastating his choice was.

   When he watched Tony receive the news of his parents passing, his soul burned with need to reach out and comfort his sobbing form. When he watched Obadiah Stane step up front and center in Tony’s life Stephen screamed with the urge to throttle the treacherous man, when Tony was dragged and operated on in a dank little cave in Afghanistan, Stephen nearly threw up from how sickening the sound of his screams were.

   From that moment on Stephen watched the creation of a hero. A man with a determination that would see the world burn before giving it up, a man who would rather suffer himself then watch it happen to his loved ones, a man, who if given the choice between the life of one or the other, would simply refuse to play the game.

   He envied him.

   The world seemed to throw its own hell at him and yet somehow, he was so very capable of twisting it back into his own hands. He made himself better, and, bigger and he believed that if Ironman stared into the face of fate, like Stephen had so many times now, the universe would blink first.

   He loved him.

   It twisted inside him like a parasite bleeding him dry. This was a man on a pedestal, unreachable and cold to his touch, a man that the universe was taunting him with, perfection, soul-mate, destined. And Stephen had killed him, had to sacrifice once more, had brought an end to the man who shrunk before no one.

   Sometime around the chaos of Ultron, when Stephen had long accepted his punishment, he began to hear whispers. It was as though there were flimsy walls between him and another, where the occasional laughter, scream, or cry would slip through.

   It had been so long now, that Stephen had forgotten he wouldn’t be here forever, in his own horrific purgatory, that his vision would come to pass and soon…. soon he would be made to face the consequences of his choice.

   He was surprised, however, when, as he watched Tony tinkering on a new Spider-Man suit, the very one Peter would wear on their trip to space, a quiet, scared little voice called out to him, “Dr. Strange?”

   He looked around, the sound a shock to his system. He didn’t really expect to see anything, his own body still existing in ethereal form as it was. But when he turned fully, he froze at the sight of Peter Parker standing there and wringing his hands with wide, anxious eyes, his body like ghost.

   “Kid,” he acknowledged, his voice airy even to his own ears.

   Relief filled his eyes and then he was sprinting forward and attempting to throw his arms around him, much to Stephen’s shock. It went completely through him, making the kid give an embarrassed grin.

   It didn’t stop him, however, from delivering a series of rapid-fire questions and sending Stephen’s head spinning, “this is the Soul Stone isn’t it!? Are we ok? Why have we been seeing images? Do you think the others are here?-”

   “Stop,” he said on a quiet sigh, and he immediately settled.

   He looked down at Peter’s wide brown eyes, realizing they were a little glassy and red, obviously having been crying and Stephen got the distinct impression that maybe he wasn’t the only being tortured here.

   Unsure exactly how to comfort him, especially with what was coming he settled for the only sad reassurance he could offer, “come watch with me, we’ll be leaving soon.”

   Peter’s entire disposition brightened, “I knew you had a plan!”

   Stephen grimaced, Peter wouldn’t be so kind if he knew what was waiting for them on the other side.

\---

   When they were yanked from the Soul Stone, it was to be met with a violent sensory overload, no doubt much worse for Peter who was crouched, gripping his head by his side. For Stephen’s part, he blinked harshly in the chaos of colours and sounds piercing his psyche, the sudden shove into proper feelings, no longer numbed by the haziness of the Stone.

   But Stephen was looking for something in the desolate landscape they found themselves in. It was dark and the earth was scorched black, ash floating on a thin wind. It was exactly as he saw it in the Time Stone and as Stephen turned around, he was unable to contain a sob at the sight before him.

   Tony Stark was on his knees, gauntlet twisted and smoking on his hand, armour wreaked worse then on Titan, face dirty with grime and eyes half closed, mouth open in a silent scream. Beside him were two still forms, crumpled and so small for the power they once yielded.

   Tony’s eyes met his tear-filled ones, before drifting slowly to Peter’s form still trying to deal with the input. A smile, heart-breaking and downright victorious spread across his lips, even as blood bubbled up from them, and slid from his nose. As if in slow motion, Tony fell forward into the dirt and dust, defeated and triumphant all at once.

   Stephen’s knees felt weak, his heart thumped painfully, but he didn’t hesitate. He reached down and yanked Peter up, ignoring the ache in his hands as he dragged him to where he laid still. Peter finally seemed to come around as they fell to their knees next to him.

   “Mr. Stark?!”

   Peter had no trouble turning him onto his back, revealing his pale, blood-stained face. “no, no, no, no, no,” he cried frantically, shaking Tony’s limp form. Peter began sobbing and the sound must have been loud because there was no way he couldn’t hear the tearing in his heart, as Stephen looked down at the pair.

   Hating himself, Stephen let his eyes wander to the other two men that had been bracketing Tony. Captain America was on his back, a giant red gash across his middle, arm outstretched away as though still awaiting the return of his shield. Similarly, Thor Odinson was crumpled on his side, his own outstretched arm still curled around the base of Stormbreaker.

   Stephen was done.

   He fell back in the dust, knees drawn to his chest, as he stared unseeing at where Peter sobbed over Tony’s body. Stephen wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, surrounded by Earth’s mightiest heroes, fallen, all because of Stephen’s choice. It didn’t matter to him that all the other futures he saw meant failure for the rest of the world, he suddenly wished he didn’t have to be strong, would take any of those over seeing this man, who he had watched grow up, exist and die, this man he loved, being here now.

   Stephen was knocked from his head when twin fists pounded against him with cries of anger. Their strength was enough to bruise, to break bones, and he wished that Peter would, would deliver the punishment he deserved.

   “Bring them back! You were supposed to save us! Bring. Him. Back.” Peter was sobbing, face red and broken in a most horrible way.

   Stephen did the only thing he could. He gathered the struggling boy into his arms, holding him close whispering over and over again, “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.”

\----

   Eight months, seven days, six hours, twenty-three minutes, and 13 seconds, Stephen was standing in front of his front door when the inevitable knock came.

   The world had healed, moved on, with barely a whimper. Stephen hated them for it. Between quiet words of thanks, extravagant displays of mourning, a monument of three built in the heart of New York, they seemed to never realize exactly what happened, how much they owed the Avengers.

   It made it all the worse.

   Stephen knew, he knew that Wong was worried, that the living Avengers looked at him with a mix of gratitude and hatred. He found himself unable to speak to any of them, choosing instead to close himself away in his Sanctuary, because the Universe had finally broken him, had made him love, then made him responsible for taking it away, felling the greatest men to ever live.

   Today, barring Wong, would be the first time Stephen faced an outside soul for six months.

   With a hand trembling not from his injuries for once, he swung open the thick oak door. Standing on his stoop, gripping the strap of his backpack and looking horribly pale and worried, stood Peter Parker.

   He hadn’t seen the boy since depositing him directly into May’s thin arms, her face crumpled into her own kind of grief and utterly unprepared to deal with Peter’s. He looked older, more world weary, and Stephen could add that to his list of sins.

   Without a word, he directed the boy into the Sanctuary and toward the sitting room. In silence they settled across from one another, in armchairs and tense air. Stephen waited, expecting accusations, explanations, anything except what came from Peter’s mouth.

   The kid fiddled with the hem of his sleeve for a moment before looking up at him with startling brown eyes that made Stephen’s heart ache, he was more like Tony then he knew, “Dr. Strange, I wanted to see how you were doing.”

   Stephen blinked harshly at him.

   Peter bit his lip, clearly anxious before continuing in his familiar fast paced way, “I just mean we haven’t seen you. I was worried…the Avengers have been worried since the…” Pete swallowed. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

   “I’m-” Stephen was feeling completely out of his depth. “Ok.” He settled on, despite the fact he was anything but.

   Peter nodded, but he wouldn’t meet Stephen’s eyes, darting around the Sanctuary, looking so out of place in this ancient building. After a moment, Stephen realized Peter’s eyes were glassy, and his fiddling had gotten worse.

   This was more like what Stephen was expecting, “Peter.”

   He looked at him then and the expression there was painfully lost, horribly unsure.

   “You can ask me anything.”

   Something physical seemed to release between them, some kind of invisible barrier crumbling to dust. Peter seemed to sit up a little taller, “you knew all along that he…they wouldn’t make it, didn’t you?”

   Stephen nodded slowly, felt his eyes burn, “yes. I saw it in the Time Stone.”

   Peter’s expression crumpled but no tears fell, “there was nothing else? No other way?”

   “None that would have brought everyone back…none that Tony would have accepted as a victory,” the words felt like poison on his tongue, even if it was true. Tony would have hated any other outcome and though it should be a comfort it only served to make Stephen all the angrier.

   There was silence again, Peter looking down at his hands. Stephen knew why he asked, it would comfort him even if it didn’t for himself, the kid was looking for closure and he didn’t blame him.

   Then quiet and incredibly gentle, “I’m sorry.”

   Stephen stared at him, confused and unsettled by the clarity there, “sorry?”

   Peter nodded, “you…you had to see all of it twice, I couldn’t imagine making that decision and then…I should have come to visit you sooner-”

   Stephen cut him off, unable to take the guilt there, “Peter that was never your responsibility, knowledge has always been my burden to bare.”

   It was obvious the kid didn’t agree but he didn’t protest, perhaps knowing Stephen wouldn’t allow him to. Still, Peter wouldn’t stop fiddling, those fingers pulling and tugging, betraying his true emotions, “I just, the Soul Stone. It let you see Tony’s past didn’t it?”

   Stephen was caught by surprise yet again. The kid was incredibly smart but what would make him take that leap? “why do you say that?”

   Peter swallowed and a tear finally slipped down his cheek, Stephen ached, “because it showed me my parent’s lives before, I lost them, it showed me Uncle Ben.”

   Stephen had suspected, but hearing it out loud still made him want to hug the kid, seeing that, then losing Tony right after… “It’s a cruel world Peter and the Stone couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

   Peter shook his head, with a wobbly smile, “no, I think it was trying to help.”

   Stephen stared at him blankly, and suddenly Peter was leaning forward on his chair with this earnest expression as though desperate to hear Stephen agree with him, “I mean, like maybe it was trying to thank us, thank you for saving the world, right? Like the Soul Stone was trying to comfort us with happy memories, things we couldn’t have otherwise seen and experienced. Why else would it show us out loved ones?”

  Stephen tensed, “excuse me?”

   Peter’s face went red, eyes widening a little, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…I mean…” he seemed to give up for a moment before looking at Stephen sadly. “I’m sorry Dr. Strange. But you loved him, right? That’s why when I found you, you were watching Tony?”

   Stephen stared at him, saying nothing while the kid got increasingly anxious. He took several deep breaths, found himself looking away out the window, unable to face him. The words felt locked in his throat, words he had never spoken out loud, terrified that he didn’t have the right, that it was unfair of him.

   Stephen knew his eyes had gone glassy, knew a tear slipped out when his eyes darted to the mantle piece above the fireplace, where in a discreet box sat a scratched and broken Ironman mask, “yes,” he whispered. “I loved him.”

   He didn’t look at him even as Peter continued, as gentle as ever, “see? The Stone, maybe it was trying to give you the chance to see him, to know about him despite….”

   Stephen knew his voice was hollow when he spoke, “you’re right Peter, I’m sure that’s exactly why.”

   The word was cruel, Stephen had no allusions to that. In the great scoreboard of life, it took no slight lightly and Stephen was on the losing side. Peter didn’t understand that, and on some level, he knew Tony would want him to pretend, to protect Peter from such a bitter awful reality. They were made to suffer, to endure, and the Universe did not care for your sentiments. If it can make a game out of you, then it will do so joyously.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, oK, ok, so we know Stephen Strange had to look into the Time Stone and see how to win against Thanos. We are also ninety percent sure that Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor Odinson (also possibly Clint or Bruce, one or the other) will die in Endgame, which means Stephen saw that they would have to be sacrificed. This is me reconciling Stephen's decision with my Ironstrange heart....so yeah sorry.   
> Would love to hear what you guys think and any theories you have about Endgame ;)


End file.
